


struggling to breathe

by valety



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen, Nonverbal Frisk, POV Second Person, Post-Pacifist Route, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 17:50:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5835052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valety/pseuds/valety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chara gets sick. Asriel doesn't handle it very well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	struggling to breathe

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for suggested ptsd and references to self destructive tendencies & severe illness (primarily the buttercup thing lol)

The three of you get sick one after the other. Frisk is first, coming home one Friday with a runny nose. When your mother hears them sneeze, she bundles them up in blankets and confines them to their bed, where they spend the evening shivering and coughing. You and Chara stay beside them out of sympathy, with Chara reading different books out loud (never past the first chapter, always getting bored by then) and you drawing pictures in your sketchbook.

All in all, it's kind of nice, being together like that. But it was probably a mistake, because you're the one who gets sick next. In the morning, you go to your mother with sniffles and a goopy throat, pleading for her to do something. The medicine she gives you tastes just as bad as always, but you drink it anyway, hoping that the plugged-up feeling will pass quickly if you do. 

"You shouldn't be so close to us," you tell Chara when they force their way between you and Frisk on the sofa later. 

"I don't care if I get sick," they say dismissively.

" _I_ care," you tell them, and Chara laughs like it's a joke before declaring that you and Frisk look bored and that it's story time. 

It's hard to concentrate on anything but Chara when they read out loud. You wonder, later, if they were maybe trying to distract you. If so, it worked, because it's not until the next day that you think again about the possibility of Chara getting sick. 

You and Frisk are once again huddled on the couch together, sniffling and sipping juice while Chara watches. For the hundredth time, Frisk signs  _I lost my voice._ For the hundredth time you groan and Chara snickers. But then that snicker turns into a cough, and suddenly your mom descends from nowhere with a thermometer and a bottle of Tylenol, and suddenly, Chara's on the couch as well, properly tucked in with all you other Sick Kids, not merely an intruder. 

The four of you take Monday off. Your mother has you each in separate bedrooms, ostensibly so that you get some rest instead of keeping one another up, but more than once she finds you lingering by Chara's door.

"They are going to be fine," she tells you the third time she has to take you back to your room. 

"I know," you answer as she tucks you in again, and you try and make yourself believe it. 

You're probably a bad person, to not be nearly as worried about Frisk. But Frisk is strong. Frisk can live through _anything._

Chara, though - 

They're not weak, exactly, but you remember back when you were younger, watching how they'd run and trip and laugh at the sight of their own scraped and bleeding knees. They weren't _careful_ , is the thing.Sometimes they'd forget to eat, and then they'd faint, and you'd be left to wonder if they'd actually forgotten or if they hadn't even bothered. And when they bled they bled a _lot,_ and you didn't know what all that blood meant, but if blood was like dust, then surely they needed that inside of them, right?  

Not that you're blaming them! It's not their fault or anything. They're perfect just the way they are. 

But every time you hear them coughing from across the hall, you think of bad things. Uncomfortable things. You think of how they'd climb the tallest tree in the yard and swing from branch to branch, or how they'd jump across those slippery, jagged rocks in Waterfall. You think of just how eagerly they'd swallowed all those buttercups, how easily they'd grinned at you with a blistered, blood-stained mouth. 

You wonder sometimes if they really want to...stay.

But. It doesn't matter if they want to or not, does it? They have to. They _have_ to. They just do, and that's that. 

If only you could make them listen. 

You refuse to leave their side that afternoon, something that they seem to find hilarious. With a gleam in their eyes they tell you, "If you're gonna stick around, then at least make yourself useful," and so you bring them water and their books and _a_   _blanket, no not that one, that one, no the other one._ You think they might be messing with you, pushing you around to see how far you'll let them go, but you don't care, not if they get better. Not if you can help them.

Every time your mother spots you in their room, she sends you back to bed. From across the hall you hear her saying  _Asriel needs rest as well_ and you pray that Chara will stop coughing. 

The next day, your mother goes to school again, not wanting to leave her class at the mercy of a substitute. The three of you stay home with dad, who makes you tea and lets you watch cartoons all day in exchange for telling him what they're about. Somehow, you and Frisk are feeling better by the evening, but Chara just gets worse. 

"This is but a cold," your mother soothes you when she finds you standing outside their door again that night, woken by the sound of yet another coughing fit. "There is nothing for you to worry about." 

"Promise?" you ask, and she sweeps you up into her arms. 

In that Mother Voice you've never heard her lie with, she says, "It may take a little while, but Chara will be fine. I promise you, my child."

And once again, you try and make yourself believe her.

The next day, Chara's like a zombie. They somehow drag themselves downstairs and settle on the couch, taking the remote with them, but then they fall asleep again in minutes. 

After breakfast, you find yourself pausing in the doorway, fixated on the steady rhythm of their narrow chest. 

"I need to stay home from school today," you tell your mother when you find her in the kitchen later. 

"You do not," she answers firmly, snapping shut her cell phone with a _click._ You hadn't even noticed that she'd had it. 

"But Chara's sick!" 

"And so Chara is staying home. But you are _not_ sick, and you will go to school. You have missed too much already." 

"But dad's busy today - who's going to take care of them?"

"Dr. Alphys will. I just called and asked." 

Something small and hard and bitter deep inside of you wants to say something nasty, something like _are you sure you really trust her with them, what if they end up a_ \- but no, force it down. Instead you ask, "Are you sure that's okay?" in your very best wheedling tone. "I mean, what if she was busy?" _Who cares if she's busy, Dr. Alphys is a_  - stop, shut up, don't be like that. It wasn't her fault. 

"Dr. Alphys is between projects at the moment," your mother answers,  "She is free this week, and so I entrust Chara to her care." 

She emphasizes the final word with a wink. The voice inside of you screams  _THAT WASN'T EVEN A PUN,_ but it's fine. It's whatever. It's - 

"That's a relief," you say when you can speak.  

When Dr. Alphys arrives, she makes a feeble joke about "not actually, uh, being that kind of d-doctor," before checking Chara's temperature with all the clinical professionalism you'd been dreading.

Chara offers you and Frisk a feeble wave before you go, and then they and Dr. Alphys return to their perusal of the anime she'd brought. You shoot her your best glare, but it doesn't seem to work; she only smiles at you nervously and tells you, "D-don't worry. I'll, um, take care of Chara for you." 

With an irritated sigh, you roll your eyes and stomp out the door, trying to ignore the stern look you feel your mother giving you. 

You can't concentrate that day. Frisk steals half of your sandwich at lunch without you even noticing, and when you _do_ notice, you can't bring yourself to care. All you can think about is Chara, and Chara being sick, and how it's not like you're jealous of Dr. Alphys or anything, that would be ridiculous, you just - 

 _Cheer up,_ Frisk signs from across the table.  _They'll be better soon._

You guess it's pretty obvious what you're upset about, so you don't bother asking what they mean. "It's taking so long," you say instead, staring miserably into your pudding cup. Not even butterscotch can cheer you up right now. 

_It's only been a few days._

"Still..."

"I know a guy who thought he caught a cold and had to go to the hospital to get stuff taken out of him," the monster kid Frisk hangs out with sometimes says.

You drop your spoon. Frisk kicks them under the table. 

"I have to go home _right now,_ " you declare, standing up abruptly. 

"Dude, your mom's a teacher, you can't cut class," says the monster kid, and Frisk nods, because clearly neither of them understands. 

"I _have_ to!" you shout, and your eyes are stinging just a bit but you are _not_ about to cry, you're not a _baby._ "Chara's sick, they might - "

Frisk stands up then, taking you by the shoulders and gently pushing you back down into your seat. Silently, they hand you your spoon, and you absolutely do not sniffle as you take it from them and finish eating your pudding.

They give your hand a sympathetic pat and offer you their juice box. 

Chara's still alive when you get home. Not that there was ever even the slightest chance they wouldn't be. Everyone keeps telling you that they'll be fine and they will definitely be fine.

But even though they're fine, they've once again become a lump on the bed, apparently. A mound of blankets have been heaped on top of them, a box of tissues and an empty glass sitting beside them on the table.

You linger in their doorway for a moment, unsure if they're awake or not, but then they croak, "Lie down with me." 

You don't need to be invited twice. You crawl in beside them and they roll over so that they're facing you. Their face is pale, the circles underneath their eyes even darker than they usually are. Their breathing is ragged, faint and wheezy, and you try not to let that scare you. 

"How do you feel?" you ask. 

"I'm dying," they mumble, blinking heavily. "Alphys and I watched anime all day. It was so bad that it killed me." 

As they speak, they take one of your ears between their fingers and gently begin to rub. "Why're you doing that?" you ask.

"Feels nice," they answer sleepily. "What, you'd begrudge me this small comfort in my final moments?" 

"You're not dying," you answer automatically. Your words are partially a reassurance and partially an order. They don't have a choice, you think with as much ferocity as you can muster, which admittedly isn't very much. It's hard to be mad at Chara, even pretend-mad. Even trying-not-to-be-afraid mad. 

Still, If they don't get better, you'll never forgive them. You'll find a new best friend. You'll throw away your locket. They're not allowed to make you watch them die, not now, not _ever._  

 _You think you have the right to be upset?_ says the tiny, angry voice inside of you. _You're the one who killed them, idiot._

Not this time, you think. It won't be your fault this time. 

"I know," Chara croaks, catching you off-guard, and you almost jump. You'd been so lost in thought that you'd forgotten they were even here. "I was kidding." 

They start to cough. The sound is horrible, tearing through them like a knife through paper. You can almost see it, almost see the blood on their hands, and -

"Water," they gasp, and you instantly slide off the bed, jumping to your feet and grabbing the empty cup from their bedside table. This is something you can do, you think a little frantically as the water rushes from the faucet in the bathroom. Your hand trembles as it fills the cup. 

When you return, Chara's lying perfectly still, an arm thrown across their eyes. They don't move, not even when you clear your throat, and so you set the glass down on the table, wondering if they fell asleep again. 

Beneath their arm, their face is pale, completely empty of its normal colour. But their chest still rises and falls with a fairly steady rhythm, despite the occasional deep, shuddering breath.

They're breathing. And everyone you've asked has said that they'll be fine, so Chara will be fine. 

You don't leave, instead sitting down beside them on the floor. Just in case they need you.

That night, you don't sleep. You _can't_ sleep. Your thoughts have grown too noisy. The cold and angry part of you keeps saying things that you don't want to hear, things like _they're sick because of you_ and _t_ _hey're sick because you didn't try harder_ and _they're sick because you_ made _them sick._

You'd tell it to shut up, but the thing is, it's right. Everything it says is  _true,_ and in your dreams, Chara coughs and chokes on yellow petals that you're forcing down their throat, and they're laughing and they're nodding and they're handing you the flowers so that you can shove them in their open mouth, and you _could_ stop, but you don't, you _don't,_ you're killing them, it's all your fault, and when you wake up, you cannot breathe. 

For what might be the hundredth time that week, you creep into their room to check on them. 

Chara's lying on their bed, almost unnervingly still, but even from the doorway you can see the way their eyelids flicker, betraying restless dreams. Normally that wouldn't make you happy, but - if they're dreaming, they're alive. They're alive and they're okay. No blisters on their skin, no bloodstains on their sheets, and Chara is okay. 

You begin to close the door, but then the hinges squeak. You wince. From within the room you hear the mattress shift. You freeze, unsure if it's better now to run or tell them that you're here, but before you can decide, you hear them whisper, "Asriel?" 

Guiltily, you push open the door. "Howdy, Chara." 

"What are you doing?" they ask, eyes gleaming in the darkness. 

"I just wanted to check on you." 

There is a moment of silence. You can't tell what they're thinking. 

"Don't be creepy," Chara says at last, and they lie back down. 

You take that as your cue to leave, and so you shut the door, silently returning to your room. 

After school on Thursday, Chara is awake and alert for once. They're downstairs in the living room, keeping themselves propped up on the couch with every pillow in the house. You think they might have been waiting for you, judging from the way they pat the empty spot beside them, and you're quietly relieved that they're not mad about you being creepy last night. 

You go to join them on the couch, curling up beside them. Soon enough, Frisk joins you too, sitting on the coffee table with a bottle of bright red nail polish, pulling Chara's feet into their lap; the only potential makeover target they had deemed acceptable, as nobody would have to see them.

As Frisk paints their nails, Chara absently strokes your ears. You twitch every time they cough. When you do, the stroking pauses. 

"This movie sucks," Chara says abruptly. Your gaze snaps to the TV, where something with a lot of blood and screaming is playing. You hadn't even noticed. Frisk hands you the remote, which you then hand to Chara, and they take it from you and begin to flip through the channels. 

"Being stuck in bed and on the couch all day is boring," they declare, stopping on what seems to be a cartoon about a talking pink raccoon. Then, a little stiffly, they add, "I can't wait until I'm better." 

And somehow, just like that, you feel like you can breathe again. 

"Me neither," you say. "It's boring without you." 

Frisk nods. Chara pats your head. 

"You _will_ get better," you add, and Chara grabs your ear, tugging it and twisting you around so that you meet their eyes. 

"Of course I will," they say, eyes hard on yours. 

Their face is pale. Their eyes are tired. But they said so themselves. They will be okay. And maybe that's something that you can believe. 

From the coffee table, Frisk gives a little happy clap. Chara lets you go, once more settling down against their pillows. 

"Chara's getting better," you inform your mother when you see her in the kitchen later. 

"They absolutely are," she agrees with a smile, bending down to press a kiss against your forehead. 

When Chara comes to say goodbye to you on Friday morning, they're still in their pajamas, a blanket draped over their shoulders like a cloak. But they're awake and moving, and their cheeks are turning pink again. They bump their head against your shoulders in farewell, just the same as always, and tell you, "Hurry home. Being sick is really boring." 

"I will," you promise, and Frisk takes you by the hand and pulls you towards the door, giving Chara a salute that Chara lazily returns.

When you're walking through the playground later, Frisk steps in front of you and signs,  _Chara will be fine._

You think of Chara with their blankets and their tired eyes. Sick Chara, who still got out of bed and came to say goodbye and demand that you return. Because they plan to be there, and because they want _you_ to be there too, and because they _will_ be there. 

"I know," you say, and for the first time all week, you think you mean it. 


End file.
